Page 24 of Mine to Love
“But that’s my job,” I whisper. There are so many thoughts in my head. Somehow that’s the only one that makes sense, the only one I can verbalize.
“And taking care of you and Delilah is mine. Right now, we need to be together so that she can see us interacting healthilyandso that you can let go of some of these lingering nerves.” Gio lets go of my hand then and places both of his on my shoulders. He gives me a little massage, which, for a moment, feels way too intimate. That is until he ends it with a friendly shake of my shoulders. I let out a small laugh. “There she is,” Gio says with a smile. “I thought we were getting past the backing away, constantly putting distance between us thing?”
“I…I don’t know. I mean, I am getting more comfortable and it’s not you. I mean, not really. I just…you surprised me. And I was already on edge after cutting my finger and then running behind on breakfast. I…I thought you might be mad at me.”
“Darcy, I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.”
21
Bourbon sweet on my lips,I stare blankly ahead from my place on the sectional. All the lights on the first floor are off except for a dim light over the stove. The darkness allows me to watch the swaying pine trees through the arched window. The wind accompanied by the rumble of thunder lets me know another storm is rolling in. After the way today began, it feels fitting.
My eyes flick to the photographs on the bookcase in the corner and immediately find the one of Cara and I. I’ve never been able to decide if keeping that picture up is helpful or not. I avoid eye contact with it most days. But, when I do choose to remember her, I prefer to remember her that way—smiling, happy, and hopeful. Still, the memories of her are always more bitter than sweet. It’s then that I return my attention outside and take another sip of my bourbon.
I got a late start to work today, but it was worth it. Cooking with Darcy and Delilah was the highlight of an otherwise mundane day. It was especially good for Delilah. When Darcy and I found her, she was cowering in the armoire of her and Darcy’s room. There were tears staining her cheeks and the only person or being she felt comfortable with was Ru. Seeing her likethat broke my heart and it makes me think of how many times Darcy has had to find her like that and soothe her daughter while she herself needed caring for. Hopefully, not many. Hopefully, Darcy’s tactic of hide and seek helped to conceal certain wickedness from Delilah. But the fact that Delilah ran, of her own accord, at the slightest perception of abuse, suggests she’s aware of more than she should be.
By the time we finished cooking together, Delilah was back to being herself. She was smiling and laughing. She hugged me. I even spent some time playing with her dollhouse with her. Remembering those sweet moments brings a small smile to my lips. I just…I wish I could take away her pain, cleanse her mind of the past—her and her mother. I guess I wish I could offer myself the same cleansing.
It’s then that the sounds of footsteps and creaking wood draw my attention to the staircase just as Darcy appears wearing the same pajamas as last night. Her eyes immediately find mine and I’m thankful my presence hasn’t startled her the same as it did this morning. “Tea time?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says with a shy smile. “Would you like a cup?”
“Not tonight. I’ve got a different beverage of choice.” I lift my half empty glass of bourbon for her to see. She nods and continues to the kitchen without another word. Deciding I’ve thought enough about the past—for today—I stand and head to the kitchen to join her. “Requesting permission to enter,” I say as I approach.
Darcy turns around from her place at the stove and laughs softly. “Permission granted.”
After her teais done brewing, I convince Darcy to sit with me as she drinks it and while I finish my second glass of bourbon. Settling into the couch, me on the end and her a few feet away, we both sip our drinks in comfortable silence. As we do, the thunder moves closer, and the rain clouds finally break. Our quiet home is filled with the perfect white noise of falling rain drops and rustling tree leaves. The simplicity of this moment stands in stark contrast to the complexity of my day and my mind. In a way, I knew it would.
Before I met Darcy, I loathed the idea of having someone in my home, of sharing my safe haven with them. Perhaps I thought I’d lose my solitude altogether. The moment I saw Darcy, I felt she was different. Well, I felt a lot of things. I just…I knew she was someone I wanted in my space. And now, here we are. It’s the perfect ending to an anything-but-perfect day. I lower my gaze then from the window to my glass of amber liquid. Feeling my lips draw into a smile, I take a sip of my bourbon to hide it. I don’t want to complicate things with words or make her uncomfortable again after we spent the day making up lost ground. But Darcy notices my change in demeanor.
“What’s that look for?” she asks. I swallow my bourbon and tilt my head to the side, not answering right away.
Finally, I say, “I like the silence.” Darcy nods and shifts her attention from me to the rainstorm just outside. Sensing her look away, I turn my attention to her and allow my eyes to caress her in all the ways I wish my fingers could. Her wavy blonde hair drapes over her shoulders. What I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through it, brush it back from hiding her perfect face, and kiss her neck—softly, at first, and then… “I like the silence with you,” I add, before my thoughts run away with my self-control.
Darcy looks at me then. Her lips part in surprise and her blue eyes search mine for any sign of a lie. Though, perhaps thetruth is more dangerous. I meet her gaze steadily, except for the moment I steal a glance at her luscious lips. The sight of them makes my thoughts run wild once more, thoughts that make my chest feel warm and my groin feel heavy.
“I like the silence too,” she says. Her voice is slightly high-pitched, which suggests I may have made her a bit nervous. Perhaps the dim lighting and cozy environment added even more weight to my statement, which was already brimming with intensity. I look away from her to allow the tension between us—or, at least, the tension I feel inside—to simmer.
With a deft hand, Darcy changes the subject. “But there is something we should talk about. It’s regarding Delilah.”
Instantly, my lustful thoughts leave me, and I set my glass of bourbon down on the coffee table. “What’s wrong?” I ask, shifting my body to face her fully.
“Nothing…with her,” she says. “It’s just…I found something this morning that’s worrisome with her in the house.”
I nod, knowing it could be quite a few things. This house isn’t exactly childproofed. Perhaps it isn’t Darcy-proofed either. She never mentioned how she cut her finger. But the few drops of blood I found in my closet are all the answers I need. I’m not mad, concerned is more like it. The cargo pants I take she was inspecting hold various weapons, some of them hidden. The knife that cut her is meant to be hidden in the waistband of the pants, completely undetectable to the eye and metal detectors. But I must not have replaced it properly after my last mission. It’s quite sharp and I imagine it was a shock to her—mind and body. I glance toward her hands then and inspect the injured finger. I’ll have to keep an eye on it and make sure it heals properly. She probably could’ve done with some stitches.
As I lift my gaze from her hands to meet her ocean eyes, she looks toward the chess table, and I immediately understand. “Ah!” Standing, I extend my hand to her. “Come here.”
“What?”
“Come here,” I repeat. She looks between my hand and the chess table, her eyes widening and her shoulders tensing. “Don’t worry, Darcy. You’re safe.” Hesitantly, she nods and takes my hand. I savor her touch as I lead her to the chess table and the gun holstered to its belly. “Now, try to take it.”
“Gio, I’m not…no!” She exclaims, withdrawing her hand and taking a step back from me.
“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “Nothing is going to happen. I’m just trying to settle your nerves.”
“By asking me to pick up a gun? Yeah, it isn’t working,” she snaps. It’s nice to see her breaking out of her shell a little. But I know better than to push her.
“Alright, then, watch me.” I kneel and press my finger to the sensor. Upon reading my fingerprint, the lock on the holster, which she probably didn’t notice, releases and I’m able to withdraw the gun. “All the guns in this house are tracked with a sensor system. When I withdraw my gun, which is only possible by scanning my fingerprint, the electronic holster sends a notification to the security panel stating that the gun is in use and who is using it. When I put the gun back, the holster immediately locks. Only those with approved fingerprints can access the weapons. So, Delilah won’t be able to harm herself or anyone else.”
